The Power of Wet Ones.

My “professor” while here in Cuba belongs to the Santeria religion and he sent us to his Padrino (godfather) so we can have our shells read. Basically, Padrino (Padre as I call him) does this intricate ritual where he throws a handful of seashells Sally sold him on the seashore and he determines the future. Think Turkish coffee ground remains.

So I got my shellz on and the Gods told Padre that while in Cuba I have to be very suspicious of food. I must sniff, look at the color, and cautiously nibble everything I eat outside of my residence. Padre warned that perhaps I will be invited to a gathering of sorts where I will be served bad meat and inherit a parasite that I will need to be operated for while I’m here. At the same time, I should be equally cautious of street food. This makes sense considering I’m a frequent, valued customer at the local street food joints. The question is: don’t all travelers to developing countries take their magnifying glasses everywhere they eat? Imagine that.

Furthermore, Padre said I will be involved in a tug-a-war of sorts with a woman and her boyfriend. Love triangle? Eh, nah I don’t think so. Will I be involved with the gal or the guy is another question. I actually wanted to test Padre out by being on my best behavior and not limping the wrists.

Oh yeah, I also shouldn’t seat in the front of taxi cars for I will be involved in a bloody and terrible accident.

Padre didn’t really tell me anything positive. He did say my Santeria guardian angel is Obatala, king of kings who loves to don all white (even after labor day). In an effort to avoid loosing a limb or pooping my guts out I should bathe in water infused with cotton plant leaves four nights in a row. There I was last night, drunkenly cotton-fusing my water and bathing.

Our pal Megan was said to have negative vibes. In order to bring positive forces to her she needed to light a candle and offer three candies to her God. So right after she got her shellz on Padre lit the candle, offered the candies and waited for the candle to burn. All the way. There we were, all chillin’ at the Padre’s living room watching this candle burn.

It took about an hour and a half for the candle to burn a quarter of the way.

I can’t really say if I believe any of this, mostly because I don’t entertain the idea of religion anymore. My mother is a prime example of why I see religion as a crouching evil. I’m still going along with the rituals until I’m cleansed. Why not? It’s something spiritual and maybe it's about time I need to be pouring myself with cotton leaves. Unless I develop a rash, what harm can it do?

Yes, We Did.

In Havana there were twelve American students who eagerly anticipated the beginning of Obamarama. They began their day by eating a stick-to-your-hips breakfast of cheese, bread, eggs, butter, and coffee. At 10:30AM they marched to Casa de las Americas like they do everyday for classes. This day, however, the students were granted a recess in the middle of classes for Obamarama.

At 11:20, the twelve students sprinted with glee down the street to El Presidente hotel where they huddled around the pool bar. Some ordered mojitos, and some ordered piña coladas. This was a celebration; one that is so beyond unique and ironic that fiction could never have dreamt of it: Americans, mojitos, Cuba, the Presidential Inauguration, El Presidente Hotel, classtime, CNN en español. 

Some Fun

The other day we went to an opening for a kinetic art gallery at Casa de las Americas where we take our classes. Initially I though it wouldn't be so much of a scene, but when I stepped into the doors I noticed it was a hip-hopping, club-bopping, pimple-popping, floor-mopping, pizza-topping, donkey flopping,  kind of place. The first floor was full of established professors and artsy hipsters mingling with a glass of red wine and taking pictures with their digital SLR cameras. The art was ok. The wine: intoxicating. 

The rest of the night followed us with more red wine, including three bottles at the dinner table, and some rum boxes before heading to the bar. We had some special moments at the bar where some of us remember specifics more than others. I think they played an ABBA song on the dance floor? Either way it was a night off well deserved after intense four classes all week about ¿AfroCuban? slavery.

Today we went to a Santeria dance-a-thon in an artistic alley. It was great and all if you are into watching sweaty people dance. The scene was actually pretty fascinating because at one corner there was a woman who resembled Cindy McCain while on the other corner there was someone who resembled a Cuban Johnny Depp. The really cool part came when we took an "egg car" taxi home. It was incredible. Imagine being in a real life Mario Kart adventure. I felt so alive. 

Foto courtesy of Miss Steph Jones. 

Skinny Beans

I had the best breakfast today. As I stepped into the dinning room I saw bright pink and lukewarm yellow. I immediately knew I was going to have guava and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Surprisingly I wasn't hung over or disoriented like every other morning I've been in Cuba so I devoured my food with quick grace. 

After I cleaned the table I ran outside to check on my laundry I dutifully cleaned the night before. There in the Havana sun lay all my hipster American Apparel tees swinging on wire with clothes pins. I've never done laundry like this before, but it felt so liberating. It reminded me of when I used to live in my uncle's bungalow in Salt Lake. We had a washer and a dryer, but the dryer gave up on life leaving the washer to do all the work. Every weekend my mom washed the clothes in the machine, hand-rung the excess water out, and clawed our clothes onto wire supported by our maple trees. I had to chuckle for a little seeing my own clothes that I washed myself floating on a Cuban rooftop. My mother would be proud. 

Our classes from 10AM to 2PM today were semi-expected. We had this Margarita woman I've become fond of teach our first class. We suspect she's daughter of the man who represented Cuba in the United Nations during the cold war. She also loves her coffee and snaps her fingers backwards. I call her Crackfingers. She's a great gal, albeit a bit liberal because she called The Nation and The Huffington Post neutral news sources. As a firm believer in Obama she whole-heartedly agrees in  Palestine and the Cuban medical scene, both of which are unfortunately currently unstable.

Then after our coffee/crack class session we had our elevator music class session. Well, it wasn't elevator music it was actually Afro-Cuban percussion music and culture, but our guest professor made it as thrilling as a ride up the Macy's department store. Although our professor was intense with his loud voice and furious facial expressions he managed to leave nothing but a subtle mark on our hungry college souls. 

Coming back from classes I had ordered a ham and mustard sandwich from a food stand next to our apartment. It amazing I can pay the equivalent of 25 American cents for lunch. While waiting for my 'wich to be toasted I saw a boy I had seen earlier in the week. He's probably in his early 20s and a total hipster with his grey tee (American Apparel?), black skinny jeans, and black wayfarers. There is no way he is from Cuba, but this is the second week I've spotted him. I'm intrigued and not in a "hey he's cute" sort of way, but in a "hey he seems like he knows my music" sort of way. Nonetheless, he's inspiring me to wear my skinny jeans in this humid weather. 

Very well, I'm off to the roof to drink a mojito box. Children in the States have their juice boxes and us gals in Cuba have our mojito boxes. God probably does exist.